


A little help

by Trojie



Series: Trojie's Pornathon Entries 2013 [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Era, M/M, Master/Servant, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Summer Pornathon 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:02:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur wakes up with a little issue. Merlin takes care of it for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A little help

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Round Five of the Merlin Summerpornathon (Canon Era). Master/servant relationship, the attendant dubious consent issues that go with that, but no coercion or dodgy intentions on the part of either party.

Merlin has been Arthur's manservant for nine days (not that Arthur's been counting) the day he flaps the covers back and Arthur sits up and has to casually pretend he's not entirely aroused. He's a healthy adult, a knight who gets a lot of daily physical exertion - is it so surprising that his body functions as normal? His _last_ manservant used to just stolidly ignore things like this.

His last manservant was some fifty-odd years old and married, however. _Merlin_ is Arthur's age, delicately-built but ferociously and gloriously insubordinate. A challenge. And Arthur wants him, has wanted him since he first saw him, and absolutely cannot have him. 

Merlin, however, stares, and clears his throat. 'Do you need a little help with that, sire?' he asks. His voice has dropped to a register lower than Arthur thinks he has ever heard from Merlin before. 

'No, I -' Arthur starts, but he does, he _wants_ and too late he realises that this is dangerously close to misusing his position, that Merlin is dangerously close to him, that Merlin's expression is not one of fear, that his knees are starting to tremble -

Merlin looks at Arthur measuringly for another moment and then slides like silk to his own knees. He braces his hands on Arthur's thighs and spreads them, apparently intent on Arthur's cock and not on Arthur's shocked, sudden gasp for breath. 

'Merlin -'

But Merlin resists Arthur's attempts to cover himself, leans forward, and presses a soft, closed-mouth kiss to the crown of Arthur's cock. He pulls back, licking his lips, and his tongue flickers out, testing-tasting-taking, his fingers clamp harder on Arthur's skin, so hard that there will be marks, ten points of contact Arthur could never have got from combat, ten points of pressure he will have to keep secret, and Arthur jerks hard into Merlin's space, unable to help himself.

Merlin smiles like a cat - the expression uncurls across his face - and this time his filthy kiss is open, licking, and Arthur is incapable of moving, frozen in pleasure, as Merlin kneels up taller, tall enough to slide his mouth down and around Arthur's cock. 

His hair tickles at Arthur's belly where he is clenched tight and almost-panicked. Arthur wants very very badly to fist his hands in that hair and feel as if he has some kind of control over this, but it would be a lie and Arthur refuses to lie to himself. 

Merlin hums. His teeth scrape just the tiniest touch against Arthur's most sensitive places. Arthur can feel himself - see himself - pushing up against the thin-stretched skin of Merlin's cheek. 

This was not what he thought would happen when he gained a new manservant. 

Merlin strokes Arthur's thighs and hips as if he was trying to quiet a horse. Arthur feels as if he cannot be quieted. He trembles and sweats and fights not to break control of himself, even if he cannot control anything else - he will not grab, he will not force, he will not _take this_ , and so he clenches his fists in the bedsheets and moans, unable to help himself. 

Merlin pushes himself forward even further, forward and down, and his shoulders are resting against Arthur's knees, keeping them spread, and everything is hot-wet-soft-pressure, Arthur's eyes are screwed tight shut and yet something sparks like stars in the darkness, and he feels one of Merlin's hands let go of his hip, and then Merlin's shoulder starts to jerk against him, rhythmic like the hot rush of Merlin's breath against Arthur's belly-skin, like the roll of his tongue down the shaft of Arthur's cock, and Arthur realises that while he isn't taking he also isn't giving either. 

And then Merlin moans, shakes, helpless and muted by Arthur's cock, and Arthur is gone, down that dark, warm path to completion. When he rouses, Merlin is sprawled over his lap, licking his lips (catlike again) and smearing one wet hand over Arthur's thigh. 

That wet mark stays, at least in Arthur's mind, even after Merlin has regained his composure and helped Arthur dress. Even after breakfast and his father's orders and the donning of padding and armour. Even after training, riding, sparring, Arthur cannot stop thinking of Merlin. 

He deflects himself, and calls Merlin the worst manservant ever, but he knows now that Merlin can already read him better than he can read himself, and hopes that Merlin knows his lie for what it is, and tastes the praise beneath it.


End file.
